Two weeks had passed since I woke up in the private hospital room.
Clara stayed by my bed every day. She took leave from the clinic. She fed me soup, adjusted my pillows, held my arm whenever I needed to sit up. She was exhausted — dark circles under her eyes — but she refused to go home.
On the 15th day, Clara finally went downstairs to the pharmacy to pick up my new pain meds. Victor was at the front desk on the first floor.
The room was empty.
I pushed the thin hospital blanket off my legs. I looked at the bathroom door a few yards away. I just wanted to go by myself. I didn't want to be someone who couldn't even walk 10 steps without help.
I set my feet on the cold floor. I grabbed the metal bar beside the bed and pulled myself up.
My legs felt like hollow paper tubes. I took a b
